Page 12 of Revenant (Spirit Realm #2)
RUE
I don’t look at Jaceson as I step out of the room and firmly close the door behind me. The leaner man looks disappointed when I don’t put up a fight, and the two of them fall into step with me. The bigger man assumes the lead, his muscles flexing in a way that says he enjoys taking apart his opponents piece by piece with his bare hands.
That means he should be the bigger threat, yet I can’t repress a shiver when the slimmer man falls back a pace and trails me a little too closely for my liking. I swear his warm, fetid breath feathers against my neck, and I grit my teeth to keep from shuddering. He would enjoy that, and I refuse to become a target by appearing weak.
The hallways are once again empty, and I suspect it’s by design. This place doesn’t foster friendship or group sharing time. I wouldn’t be surprised if they pit the residents against each other to prevent them from forming alliances.
We bypass the hallway with the hidden elevator. Instead of using the stairs for the lower levels, I am marched toward an ancient elevator I thought was more for looks than functionality. The metal death trap should have been condemned fifty years ago.
The bigger man pushes the button for the elevator, then steps aside. Metal screeches against metal as the doors wrench open, revealing the dingy interior that resembles a crime scene from the 1930s that no one bothered to clean.
I must have hesitated entering for a bit too long. Rough hands jab into my back, shoving me so hard that I fly into the coffin-like space. I crash into the far wall, barely twisting in time so my shoulder takes the brunt of the fall instead of my face.
I clutch at the railing to keep from crashing to the floor. As I gain my feet and spin, the larger man is already striding back down the hallway, while the other guard with the cruel streak smirks at me, and the doors close ominously between us.
There are no buttons on the elevator, no emergency call button, not even a button to open or close the door. Before I can contemplate that, the floor drops out from under me as the contraption lurches into motion. I’m thrown against the wall again, and I grunt at the impact, my grip on the rickety railing tightening to the point that I’m afraid I’ll wrench it out of the wall.
The cables holding the elevator warble as the death trap careens lower and lower into the bowels of the earth. The car is narrow, the space a little over two feet wide and five feet deep. The musty smell of death haunts the crumbling fabric wallpaper, the once vibrant colors so muted that it’s like the life was sucked out of it a long time ago.
Gears grinding, the room drops another foot as the metal death box jerks to a stop. Even with my grip on the railing, the motion throws me to the floor. Wires stretched too tight ping harshly above me in the sudden silence, then the door screeches, sounding like a dying dinosaur on its last breath as the metal slowly opens an inch at a time.
A small room that resembles a 1950s trailer comes into view, containing a mixture of greens and oranges that clash so horribly, it hurts my eyes to look at it. I almost expect more guards to be waiting, but the room is empty.
For some reason, I’m not reassured.
While part of me doesn’t want to enter the room that time forgot, the thought of being trapped in the elevator for another minute has me climbing to my feet and stepping out. The reception area is even more terrible up close, the stench of mold, mildew, and despair filling my senses.
A metal sign is screwed into the wall with two words printed on it with arrows pointing in opposite directions. Training right, laboratory left. A chill rakes down my spine as I peer left. The hallways are dim, the dingy white walls depressing as the winding corridor disappears from view. An underground wind howls through the tunnels, and I swear the screams of patients who have long since disappeared echo down the corridor with a warning to run.
My imagination is so vivid that I nearly reach up to cover my ears to block out the tormented sound. I’m not aware I’m backing away from the horror until my foot leaves the orange paisley carpeting and I step onto stone. I’m enveloped in a darkness so complete that I’m left wondering for a second if I’m still conscious.
I clutch my chest, then whirl like something is about to grab me and drag me away…only to face an old tunnel chiseled into the very earth, the tool marks in the walls too closely resembling claw marks for my peace of mind. The passageway reminds me of the secret tunnel Gunner showed me a few hours ago. I touch the walls gingerly, gulping when the stones crumble under my fingertips.
How reassuring…
Squaring my shoulders, I inhale a deep breath of mildew and dust, then focus on the lights shimmering in the distance like a mirage to trick the unwary into entering a trap. My feet scuffle against rocks, kicking up dust with each step, but it’s not long before I enter a large cavern filled with bright lights and people.
Habit takes over, and I scan the area for threats. The room is about thirty feet across, forty feet wide, and maybe twenty feet tall, if I was being generous. While a few other tunnels branch away from the main room, I don’t sense they are exits.
The cavern is separated into three sections. Off to the right is a large mat, where a handful of people are brutally beating each other in the guise of fighting. Blood flies, sweat fills my senses, but no one even flinches as they continue to pound each other like they are mortal enemies.
It takes me a moment to recognize the people fighting are what Crystal called morphs.
They’re human…but not.
My brain just kind of hiccups over the logic, unable to compute what I’m seeing. It’s like I fell into a fucked-up, monster version of Wonderland.
One group moves faster than possible for humans, each blow flinging their opponents about like they weigh no more than a spoon. Another group has fingernails like claws and teeth that are a little too sharp, each one growling and snarling as they do their best to rip their opponents to shreds. It’s organized chaos, one that I have no hope of surviving.
While they might wear human skins, they can’t be mistaken for anything but one thing—they are morphs. They have been ruthlessly trained, their abilities impressive, and they are nothing short of vicious.
I instantly recognize that I am prey among the predators. I wrench my attention away and spot a group of guards standing in the center of the room, each of them armed to the teeth. The stun batons in their hands crackle with blue sparks that could easily put down a horse, much less a human.
To the left side of the room stands a small group of three people, and I realize that they are like me—people who have special abilities that defy nature. I’m surprised when I don’t see the doctor waiting, rubbing his hands, avarice gleaming in his eyes. Instead, the psychopath guard from upstairs is with them.
Great.
It’s all I can do not to wilt in defeat. Without being told, I know that he’s my new trainer, and I trudge reluctantly in his direction. Just as I reach the fringes of the group, his dark gaze meets mine.
“You’re late!” he snaps, a snarl of displeasure twisting his lips…if you ignore the gleam of enjoyment in his eyes at my predicament—a situation I’m positive he orchestrated on purpose just so he could punish me.
I don’t recognize anyone in the group, which consists of two girls and a single guy. The girls are in their teens, neither more than a year or two younger than me. Each of them is severely malnourished, and I’m uncertain if they have given up on life or if they’re unable to consume enough food needed to fuel their abilities. While they don’t exactly cling to each other, they do stand close together, as if that would provide them some sort of protection.
The guy is older, somewhere in his mid-twenties. I have nothing against redheads, but something about him is severely off-putting, like he was put together in an unfortunate combination of faulty DNA. His bushy red hair doesn’t look like it has been combed in a decade, the pompadour style only chosen because he was too lazy to be bothered to do anything but shave off the sides and back. The rust stain color is a tangled, greasy mess that he must think is hot. His pale skin is so pasty white that he resembles a ghoul. He is covered in so many freckles that it makes his skin appear blotchy. While he has some muscle tone, his frame is too tall and lean, so it just makes him look gangly.
From the way he scans me from head to toe with a salacious grin, then licks his thick lips suggestively, he likes to prey on those he thinks are weaker than him. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the only way he can get female attention.
I turn away and stare straight ahead, my shoulders back, my eyes blank, desperately wishing to be anywhere else. I don’t react, don’t dare even move, but that doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of my neck from rising, like a predator has locked eyes on me.
The guard observes the interaction with sharp interest, and I’m determined not to reveal my misgivings. No matter what I do, I’m not going to escape punishment. No excuse will be acceptable, so I decide to treat the guard with the manners my father beat into me. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
The guard narrows his eyes like he suspects I’m mocking him, studying me for any sign of deceit. Also thanks to my father, I manage to keep my face blank and my emotions buried deep.
He stalks toward me, circling me, and it takes everything in me not to turn and keep him in view as my instincts demand. When he grabs me by the back of the neck, his grip is so hard that streaks of pain shoot down my shoulders, then up along my neck before wrapping around my skull.
He shakes me for good measure before leaning down until his harsh voice fills my head. “Unacceptable. It’s my job to turn you into a soldier. Tardiness is a punishable offense.”
He shoves me forward, and I stumble, barely able to keep my feet under me. The last thing I want is to show any vulnerability around him. He won’t hesitate to take advantage. A scowl twists his face when he circles me again, clearly displeased I’m not on my knees before him, whimpering in pain and fear.
Though it may be stupid, I refuse to bend to him.
“Gordan, get in the ring,” the guard snaps, never taking his attention from me. Gordan practically bounces on his feet in excitement as he hurries to obey, a malicious grin twisting his lips as he stalks me.
“Since you’ve been difficult, little girl, you’re going to train with him today.” I don’t even bother to protest, since it won’t matter, anyway. I circle the mat, determined to keep my distance from Gordan, shuddering at the thought of him touching me with his ghoulish hands.
As I pass the guard, he leans down and whispers in my ear. “Let’s see what you got. If you don’t tell the doc what you can do, I will beat it out of you. Eventually.”
I barely contain my grimace at his gloating. Because he’s right. While I’ve been training daily and gaining strength, so have the ghosts. I’ll only be able to hold them back for so long. If my control slips, if the people who run this facility discover what I can do, my stay here will become infinitely worse.
Just as I step over the faded circle painted on the mat, the redheaded nightmare across from me smirks. When he lifts his hand, he snaps his fingers, and a spark of flame bursts to life in his palm. I blink in surprise, my mouth dropping open in shock. When he draws back his arm and throws a fucking ball of fire, it’s only instinct that has me ducking.
Fire sizzles in the air, passing so close to me that heat sears along my arm, and I hiss at the unexpected bite of pain. When I glance down, my upper arm looks like it has a bad sunburn. Since I’ve never been out in the sun for long, I’m surprised at how much it stings.
For the next hour, I dodge and twist away from Gordan’s attacks. Sometimes, I’m successful, but more often than not, I’m too slow to escape completely unharmed. My clothes have holes from the sparks, my hair is singed, and my skin is spotted with dozens of burns of varying severity.
I almost expect to burst into flames when I take a direct hit, but either he doesn’t have the juice or he’s holding back. From the scowl on his face, I suspect it’s the former. The more he fails to leave me weeping on the floor, the more his face turns red in frustration.
Sweat pours off him, his ginger hair damp with it. I can tell he’s weakening when the fire is no longer as bright, the missiles he’s throwing smaller and smaller in size, and the heat not as vicious.
I don’t bother attacking him physically after my first attempt to defend myself failed so spectacularly. I had hoped to knock him out cold with a single blow. Instead, my wrist is covered in a perfect burn of his handprint where he caught my arm. The longer he held onto me, the harsher the burn deepened until I swear my bones were melting. He only released me when I nailed him in the balls.
When he bent over, I brought up my knee and smacked it into his face as hard as possible. There was an audible crack, and I took sadistic pleasure when blood spilled down his face. He cupped his damaged nose, blood seeping between his fingers to drip down his arms, and he fell back onto his ass. The shock lasted only a second, then he turned into a pissed off toddler.
He scrambled to his feet and swiped the back of his arm across his face, smearing the blood across his cheek, then renewed his effort to wipe me off the face of the earth. The only bright spot is that he’s now warier, keeping his distance as he tries to annihilate me.
As the darkness in the corner of the room thickens, the chill in the cavern deepens, and I do my best to push away the ghosts hovering at the edge of my awareness. While some of the spirits might seem benign, that can change in a heartbeat. More than a few of them linger with malicious intent, looking for an opening to attack.
Looking for vengeance.
It doesn’t matter no one here is responsible for their condition.
Any living being will do.
Their volatile emotions bleed into me, and I struggle to keep focused on the fight and not give in to their rage and despair. They want me to see what they suffered. They want me to get justice…or syphon power from me so they can do it themselves, uncaring I would become collateral damage.
Another fireball singes my thigh, the heat harsh enough that it burns a hole in my jeans, and I hiss more in annoyance than pain. Even though I’m so used to being hurt that I barely feel pain, the burns are persistent fuckers and harder to ignore. My wounds throb in time with my heartbeat. It’s annoying—a distraction I don’t need as I do my best to dodge his next fireball.
A crowd gathers and watches as I’m gradually whittled down, but I refuse to relent. If I cry mercy, my punishment will only worsen. A buzzer sounds, louder in the cavern as it echoes around the stone walls, and everyone turns and heads toward the entrance, fleeing like cockroaches scuttling from a light.
I turn to follow, committing the rookie mistake of taking my eyes off my opponent. The second I’m distracted, Gordan slams into me so hard, my breath is knocked from me…or that could be the punch he threw at my ribs. My shirt catches fire, and I quickly swat at the flames with an annoyed huff.
“What yourself, bitch,” he snarls in my direction, his shit-colored brown eyes promising retribution. “Crystal and I are in charge here. Cross us again, and we’ll end you.”
He struts away, uncaring of the people he burns as he passes—something I suspect he does on purpose, much like a boy trying to prove who has the biggest dick. He loves his ability, loves it even more that he can use it on others without fear of retribution.
I shudder at the thought of using my powers so openly. Hiding my abilities is so ingrained that I cringe at the idea of anyone discovering what I can do. They will either be like my mother, claiming that I am evil and need to be destroyed, or they will be like my father, willing to imprison me so they can use my abilities for their own gain.
My brain shuts down, flinching away from the thought of being stripped of my identity again until I become nothing more than a mindless drone. People like Gordan, people who believe themselves to be gods and fear nothing, think they have the right to do anything they want, that the rules don’t apply to them. Power corrupts people, and I have no intention of being around when they ultimately destroy themselves.
With my clothes in tatters, my skin red and irritated, I shuffle behind the others. A spot between my shoulder blades itches. When I surreptitiously glance around the cavern, I catch a guard watching me with a calculating expression that can only mean more trouble. I’m thankful when I enter the tunnel and disappear into the crowd.
A few of the others cautiously watch me out of the corner of their eyes. To my surprise, it’s one of the girls at the match who speaks to me, her voice so hoarse, it sounds painful even to talk. “You might as well use your abilities and show them what you can do now. If you don’t prove yourself useful, you will disappear into the labs.” A shudder goes through her painfully thin body, her lifeless green eyes apathetic as she stares up at me. “You only get one chance after that. No one comes back when they disappear a second time.”
She slips away before I can probe for more information. Everyone exits through a door next to the rickety elevator, only to climb an even ricketier set of metal stairs a person could get tetanus from by just looking at them. They creak and groan under our weight, but no one flinches at the ominous sound as they shuffle upward.
By the time we emerge, I instinctively inhale, desperate to eradicate the taste of dust and rust from my lungs. I mentally map the maze of hallways and blink in surprise when, three turns later, we walk into the large prison courtyard used as a cafeteria.
Unappetizing food is already set out, a small line forming, and I dutifully fall into step with everyone else. Keep your head down. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I repeat the mantras over and over.
As I grab the tray with a mangled sandwich that looks a few days old and a bruised apple, I head toward my normal table. I eat mechanically, shifting uncomfortably when more people appear and the room fills. I search each new face, my heart sinking when I mentally count the patients and discover one missing—Jaceson.
Though I try not to worry, it’s an impossible task. Sue and her group sit with me, though at a distance. They are quiet, only a few whispered words between them, but I don’t miss the long glances they cast my way. They note my injuries, the state of my clothing, but don’t break the silence.
I refuse to acknowledge the pity in their eyes.
Time passes slowly as I finish my meal. I’m almost the last one done, the room practically cleared before I reluctantly accept defeat and head back to my dorm. My intuition is screaming that something happened. As the day turns into evening, my worry increases, and I pace my room like a lion caged in a small space for too long, barely resisting the impulse to send out an army of ghosts in search of him.
Maybe that’s what they want?
Maybe they are testing me.
Supper is just as uneventful as my previous meal.
And still no signs of Jaceson or Gunner.
I spend another hour working out in my room, warming up my muscles in preparation for what’s coming. Every part of me is on edge, something warning me to be ready. Just when I decide to hunt for the guys, tear down the very walls in this fucking place to find them, the locks on my door engage with a harsh thud. I startle, then rush toward the door…and discover myself locked in for the night.
The walls close in on me, pressing closer and closer until my chest feels like it’s being crushed. A panic attack. Unfortunately, diagnosing the issue doesn’t automatically cure the problem. My control slowly unravels, despite my best efforts. The room darkens, the air cooling until frost crackles around me. Panic claws up my throat, closing off my airway like someone wrapped their hands around my neck and squeezed.
Memories of Ellis brighten my mind, his soothing voice as he calmly talked me off the ledge ringing in my ears. I close my eyes, then blow out a shaky breath and desperately recall his instructions. Just the thought of him relaxes me enough to remember his words. Focus on what you can see, what you can feel, and what you can hear. Steady your mind. Ground yourself in the here and now.
If that doesn’t work, think of my kiss.
My brain immediately skips over everything else and heads straight into the gutter. My imagination is so good, I’m almost able to feel him in the room with me, his lips hovering just out of reach. My body warms, desire stirs, and I swear I could reach out and touch him. The scent of books and burning candles fills my nostrils. I push out my senses, forcing my gift to its very limits, wanting more, but he remains hauntingly, frustratingly, out of reach. Though I don’t reach Ellis, thinking about him eases the tightness that invaded my chest.
Shoving away my disappointment at being unable to connect to any of the men, I methodically prepare for bed, absently scratching my arm, then my hip, then the underside of my jaw as the drugs continue to work their way out of my system. The twitchy sensations only exasperate my unease.
I’m sure I’m worrying for nothing, but that doesn’t keep me from tossing and turning for most of the night. I unconsciously listen for footsteps, more than ready to leave this place, but neither Gunner nor Jaceson comes to collect me. The siren blares bright and early the next morning, but I’m already up and dressed, more than ready to escape my room. I’m so on edge that I barely slept more than two hours total. When the locks release a minute later, I lunge toward the door.
If Jaceson isn’t at breakfast, then I’ll know something has gone horribly wrong. As I open the door, I silently vow to discover what happened to him and Gunner, even if I have to tear down the world to do it. If they want to see my powers, I’ll fucking show them…even drag them to the afterlife, if that’s what it takes to find the answers.